The Outer Limits

Falling through the universe at the speed of life

By David Glenn Cox

” There is nothing wrong with your television set. Do not attempt to adjust the picture. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. We can roll the image, make it flutter. We can change the focus to a soft blur or sharpen it to crystal clarity. For the next hour, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. We repeat there is nothing wrong with your television set. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to ” — The Outer Limits.

This was the 1963 version; the 2020 version is a little light on awe and more a puzzlement than a mystery. Now, I’m no Constitutional scholar. But somehow there seems to be a contradiction, a President who takes an oath to defend the United States from all enemies foreign and domestic and a President who advocates for insurrection in those same states. A Fox News Astroturf revolution with a full court media press. Thousands of images and videos and news stories based primarily from the angle, can you believe people could be this foolish? It is the usual crowd with Trump floats and banners, missing teeth waving guns around and sputtering about a wall. The zombie apocalypse has begun.

Its Astroturf slip was showing when the orange one used his Corona virus Task Force podium to talk about second amendment rights in Virginia. Oh, it is terrible what they are doing in Virginia. Loyal to his huckster roots, first imply there is a serious problem. “Do the other kids call you pizza face because of your acne skin?” then disparage the governor as under a cloud and not as good as our pimple cream. Never saying exactly what it is that makes their product so bad and without saying why his product is any better. Shutdown that pool room and your boy can play the trombone! Pure humbug. As General Rochambeau advised George Washington, always keep the militia in front of you where you can see them.

It all fits the narrative of the counterculture. A 2020 Rambo anti-hippie. A neofascist storm trooper with a weight problem and allergies dedicated to triggering Libs the same way he pisses off mom when he moves the thermostat. A flag waving gun toting tailgate party where we all genuflect to the orange one because we know the (wink, wink,) secret.

In my internet travels, I came across a Q anon believer. He had the flavor of Comicon with villains and superheroes, plots and sub-plots. Remember back in episode twenty-seven? He sold him a cocker spaniel dog that had the mange and died and then wouldn’t give him his money back, so they aren’t friends anymore. In all these plots there is always a reveal, where Donald Trump appears as Hulk Hogan and cleans out the nest of bad guys. Only…it never happens. Every failure to launch is couched as another part of the mystery! Well, I tell you what man, Ole Trump was ready to blow Pizza gate wide open but the President of the World Bank and George Soro’s had Ivanka tied up and dangling over a vat of boiling acid on Skull Island.

So Trumpo the wonder ape is speaking in code to the Volksstrum. The moon is blue, the cat went up the hill. Jean Claude will be home soon. His followers hunched over their secret underground radio sets listening to the BBC on a head set with pencil and paper, their Little Orphan Annie decoders at the ready. Soon, the truth will be known by all. Then we shall all see the true brilliance of Donald Trump when he catches them all in one net.

It would be funny if it were not so tragic. Who shot J.R. and the Amazing Spiderman all rolled into one. The only thing sadder than a dancing puppet is the one who pulls the strings. This is Donald Trump’s zenith of hucksterism. Yea Ha! We are all going to WrestleMania! Right after we liberate Minnesota!

If you follow my plan and open the economy and people die, it’s your fault. If you don’t follow my plan and people die, it’s your fault. I have a five-year-old letter here where Governor Cuomo could have bought fifteen thousand ventilators. Sure, it sounds crazy, but he’s not talking to us. He is talking to his secret friends in the underground, holed up in mom’s basement from coast to coast.

The protestors came because they were summoned, the pandemic had nothing to do with it. They came because they were called. The Bhagwan wants you to protest. There is a secret message waiting just for you! D-r-i-n-k m-o-r-e k-o-o-l-a-i-d.

A little man in a big job coping by deflection and delusion. Bluster and bullshit turning crisis into financial windfall. Creating his own Astroturf distraction like a villain in a Bond movie. “Rise my children! Liberate Virginia!”

“These are people expressing their views,” he told reporters. “I see where they are and I see the way they’re working. They seem to be very responsible people to me, but they’ve been treated a little bit rough.”

If you listen closely, you can hear the secret message. A “very fine people on both sides,” moment.

An American President advocating insurrection between the lines to distract from his failures and advance his own domestic agenda. Trump’s own scorched earth policy throwing the militia to the slaughter in a pointless battle of ego.

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